


Matching beats

by WahlBuilder



Series: Fang and Claw [8]
Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dom/sub, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gray-Asexuality, M/M, Mind Meld, Serial Killers, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Viktor is Anton's worst enemy, a hunter bent on stopping him, and they've been at this for a long time.So when Anton feels that Viktor is injured, he is determined to not let his hunter leave the hunt this easily. Nothishunter. No. Not at all.But turns out, he overdoes it just atinybit. The tiniest. Resulting in a lifebond.





	Matching beats

Anton knows the scent of Viktor’s blood and has come to think of Viktor as “his hunter”, and Viktor is so beautiful and so... When one night the scent of Viktor’s blood is so strong and so wrong, Anton... He’s not concerned, not at all, his hun— the Colonel is not his problem— Well, he is, but not in that sense...

Anyway. He tracks Viktor—and finds him in a pool of blood, struggling, dying. Anton wouldn’t think of Turning him because Viktor hates leeches, right, and it would be wrong and he doesn’t want Viktor to hate himself...

But he does something on instinct, Viktor’s scent is bad, full of poison, and so Anton offers to help, to drain him of the poison and it might just work, and he will give Viktor some of his own blood, “It’s not Turning, I promise”, to speed up the healing, and Viktor is a fighter, all right, he has so much to do, and he agrees.

(Viktor’s moan when Anton bites him is ungodly good.)

Turning would require allowing Viktor to die, and here Anton is just healing him, and the poison burns Anton like acid, but he continues and even under that poison he feels Viktor’s taste and it’s so good, unbelievable (just like his scent always suggested), but Anton makes himself stop when he is sure the poison won’t hurt Viktor anymore, and he gives Viktor just a little of his own blood (Viktor looks so... so. With his lips smeared with Anton’s blood.)

Then Anton takes him to the hospital, tells the doctors Viktor has bled out. Someone offers to put a cot to Viktor’s room, “Of course we understand you’d like to stay with him”, and Anton is too worried to realize that the doctors and nurses have assumed they are boyfriends.

He does stay. He needs to monitor Viktor’s state, even though he’s sleepy as the morning comes. But Viktor is asleep, too—not unconscious, but asleep. Anton listens, listens to Viktor’s heartbeat, and when he’s sure Viktor will live, he goes away (even though he doesn’t want to).

Why did he even save Viktor?.. It wasn’t right, for such a skilled, capable hunter to die in a ditch, in pain, all alone.

A few days later, Anton can’t stop thinking about the hunter. He’s been thinking about Viktor a lot anyway, but now... Anton can still feel Viktor’s taste on his tongue. Viktor’s pained moan, so soft, when he bit him. The scent of Viktor, adrenaline and metal and green tea.

Gods, how would he be able to hold back when they meet in a fight again?..

Anton stumbles into the shower, trying to wash it off, but Viktor doesn’t leave his mind, and it’s... Ohgods, he’s hard, thinking about Viktor.

The orgasm doesn’t bring any relief.

***

Viktor has been discharged from the hospital (for breaking the regimen, as usual), but told to stay on bed rest, and as much as he wants to return to his duties, he is weak still. And, more importantly, he needs to think.

The leech saved his life. Why did he do that? They seem to have grown to respect each other—Viktor certainly does, and it’s been difficult to see only a leech in Anton. But respect is one thing, and saving his life... He was going to die. He knew it so clearly—and he was scared, not of dying, but of dying _like that_. Out of control, fading away. Not on his own terms.

And then Anton was there, like his personal angel of death. So dramatic and so cliche... And he said something about helping him, and Viktor knew he should have refused—but Anton promised he wouldn’t be Turning him into a leech.

And he believed Anton. He... trusted Anton at that moment, like he never trusted anyone else.

And, Anton said the truth, didn’t he?

He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, seeking, like the day before, for signs of turning into some kind of leech. And he’s pale, yes, and visibly weak still—but his heart is beating properly, and the only sign that something has transpired is a small, very neat mark low on his neck.

He touches it, mesmerized. The pain, he remembers well.

It was the only clear, sharp thing, drawing his attention away from everything else. So... exquisite. Hot, blinding, burning everything else away—his worries, fears, doubts, exhaustion, all of his thoughts... And yet it didn’t blind him completely, it enhanced immediate sensations. Anton’s hand under his back, supporting him carefully. Anton’s voice, so close, so quiet, the husk pronounced.

Anton’s hot mouth on his skin.

And then, the taste of Anton’s blood as Anton opened his thumb on a fang, and pressed it into Viktor’s mouth, smearing blood on his lips... Holding his gaze. Anton’s pupils were so wide, and Viktor felt content, proud even, because he was the cause of it. (Even though he understands that the poison must have hurt Anton, too.)

Suddenly, Viktor is aware of the heat in his body, of the _need_. It has never... No, it happens sometimes, a frustrating, distracting function of his body, relief quick and unsatisfying (though sometimes it is good, when the moment is just right).

But never at the thought about _someone_. Never caused by the thought about someone.

It’s just that he’s been fixated on Anton for so long. Well, no harm in exploring those thoughts in full, maybe he will get rid of this desire. And he allows himself to touch himself, thinking about Anton.

He can imagine, he can _feel_ Anton touching him. A big hand gliding up his chest, tracing the tattoos. Fascinated. Anton breathing out his name. Anton’s _voice_ , that husk. Guiding him. Issuing commands and watching, watching. Stroking the mark, pressing on it...

Viktor comes in a shudder.

Then, standing under the spray of the shower, trying to catch his breathing, his body warm with pleasure, he decides that he should get to work as soon as possible. Occupy his mind with something _but_ Anton.

Which… is difficult, even when he does return to the HQ a few days later (to Henry’s disapproval). Because Anton is _his_ problem. His enemy, his brilliant, stubborn headache, his leech.

They clash in a fight when Viktor barrels into a drug deal, and the two of them end up away from their people, and Viktor manages to get an opening and drives a sword through Anton’s shoulder—

The pain steals his breath.

He grabs his own shoulder, gasping, his knees nearly giving up, slumping over Anton.

“Hunter?”

He’s biting his lips, but pained moans still escape his throat.

“Hunter. Oh gods.”

“What... have you done?”

“Oh gods. It seems we are... I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would happen, Viktor, please...”

His sword clatters to the ground, providing instant relief, the pain fading to a dull throb. And Anton’s hands are roaming over his body, and Anton keeps murmuring apologies...

Viktor leans to him and bites Anton’s lip. “Shut. Up. For a moment. Please.”

(Viktor would say to himself later that he was in shock. That was the only explanation why he decided to silence the leech in such a way.)

“Viktor. Vitya. I’m sorry.” Anton’s arms come round him, and Viktor sighs and allows himself to relax. The pain has nearly faded.

(He wonders if it’s mutual.)

(...He wonders whether Anton felt his arousal.)

“Will it go away?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it just pain or do I sustain the same injuries?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did it happen?”

“Don’t know.”

“What _do_ you know? Aren’t you an ages old leech?”

Anton pulls back a little, his brows knit. “Vitya, I’m a twenty-year old leech. I don’t think it counts as ages.”

He tilts his head a little. “Twenty? You’ve been a vampire only for twenty years?”

Anton looks away. As though... Oh, he’s shy? “What difference does it make?”

“But you are so powerful. Skilled. The biggest problem I’ve ever had.” He puts a hand on Anton’s neck, needing the contact. He feels with the tips of his fingers just how warm Anton’s skin is. Touching... feels right. A fulfillment of a need. It must be this unfortunate bond.

“It’s your own fault.”

He smiles. This is absurd, and it’s just him crashing from adrenaline high. “How is it my fault?”

Anton blinks, and his eyes glow like a cat’s for a moment. Beautiful. “You are a very good hunter. I have to adapt. Improvise.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” he murmurs. The hold Anton has on his waist is... good. Grounding. “You are very capable, and I have to do my best to keep up.” He wants... He realizes he wants to kiss Anton. Just to see what Anton would do.

But he steps away (and Anton lets him), sobering up, then picks up his sword. He glances at Anton, who rolls his injured but, apparently, already healed shoulder with a wince.

“Let me see your shoulder.”

Anton rubs it. “It’s fine.”

“I sliced right through and I felt how not fine it was.”

The leech grumbles something under his nose. But lets him look. Viktor considers it a small victory—even though the leech doesn’t stop grumbling.

***

They have to— _the horror!_ —look after themselves now. But also, they can _not_ look after themselves, just to spite or to hurt each other.

One week, Viktor feels _cranky_ (there is no other word) all seven days because _someone_ can’t stay put and has to throw himself into every fight possible and get hit in the ribs.

Then, Viktor gets grazed by his hunt’s claws—and of course he wouldn’t go to the hospital for something as minor as getting half his side sliced up, and he’s trying to stitch himself in peace, when Anton shows up, grumbling that he doesn’t fancy the burn and itch of the slice-up being there for weeks, and he pushes Vik’s hands away and _licks_ over the wound.

In hindsight, it is logical: Anton’s saliva speeds up the healing.

But right then, Viktor can’t hold back a groan: Anton’s tongue is rough as a cat’s, and just as hot. He sits in a daze long after Anton slips away with the shadows.

***

They have agreed they should look for ways to undo the lifebond. Anton goes to Dandolo for advice ( “I have accidentally tied a vampire hunter’s life to my own.” — “Accidentally.” — “Yeah.”), and then goes to his hunter.

“An... expert I asked said we should try being completely apart...”

“All right.”

“...and then spending a few days very close together.”

The silence stretches.

“How close exactly?”

“Living together.”

“Hm. All right. I’m going out of Ophir on a mission for a few days.”

“Okay.”

“And then you can join me.”

“O...kay?”

“I need a companion for my cover anyway.”

“What kind of companion?”

“A boyfriend.”

He asks for more information about the case, as they need to synchronize their legends. (A _boyfriend_. Ohgods.)

“There is a serial killer,” Viktor explains. “Three victims so far, all men in mid-thirties, no similarities in appearance except that all have quite extensive tattoos.”

“The killer is an admirer.”

“It seems so. Oh, and all three were with boyfriends. All three disappeared in the same general area, all three were out of town, all three on a trip or vacation with their partners, though staying in different hotels, but all three visited the same night club and a spa.”

Anton rubs his chin. “Wait. You are using yourself as bait?”

“Naturally.”

“Nat— Do you even like men?”

The slight frown on the Colonel’s face is almost imperceptible—but Anton has already learned to look very closely. “How does it matter?”

Anton almost drops his jaw. Then huffs. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, is all.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable. In any case, all three turned up drained of blood.”

Anton still lingers on _You don’t make me uncomfortable_ , but then catches up: “Drained doesn’t mean anything.”

“No. It doesn’t. But I’m looking into the case regardless. Your company would spare me the trouble of picking someone, and we also have the chance to solve our... problem.”

Anton huffs again. “All right. We are boyfriends. How did we meet? And who are we, for that matter?”

Viktor looks into his black notebook. “I have a list of ideas. A university professor and his biker boyfriend?”

Anton snorts, imagining it. “You put on glasses, and every student will be at your feet.”

Viktor gives him a strange look. “I was thinking of _you_ as a professor.”

Anton tries to imagine that. “Huh. Hold on...” He shrugs off his leather jacket, then goes over to the hunter and throws it over his shoulders. “Hm. Might work. Maybe not a biker, but simply a punk? Because, you know, we’d need a bike.” He ruffles Viktor’s hair a little. “Hm. My troublemaker boyfriend. A lab technician at my university by day, an hacktivist by night. We saw each other regularly at work, but then met at some civil event and hit it right off. It’s our first vacation together—just as well that it’s summer. What do you think?”

Viktor is watching him intensely, then blinks, returning from some thoughts. “Yes. Good thinking.”

Anton steps back, tilts his head. “You’ll need makeup. We are on vacation, after all, and that way less chance that someone might recognize you.” He thinks more—then pinches the bridge of his nose. “...I’m an idiot. _I_ should be the bait. A little older than needed, but I do have the tattoos, and if something goes wrong, I can protect myself.” He glances at Viktor. “Not that you can’t...”

Viktor shakes his head, and Anton’s heart sinks. “No. It must be me. Because if the killer is a vampire and they sense that you are, too...”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Right. Fuck. And this way we can always say I didn’t want to tell you yet about my being a leech. Okay. You go first, and your professor boyfriend was held back by last-minute students and will be with you in a few days.” He thinks on it more. “And you need to take my number. Though it won’t be complete separation like D— my expert advised.”

“Why?”

“Because we are supposedly in love and we are going to call each other and tell each other pleasant nonsense. In case the killer starts stalking you.”

“You are right, yes.”

One consideration bothers Anton. “But you’d have to flash your tats somehow,” he says quietly.

Viktor appears puzzled. “Of course.”

“You are not... I noticed you are not entirely comfortable with... attention.”

Viktor’s face is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes. “That won’t be a problem. Besides, the spa. I suspect the killer picks the victims there.”

“Or the club,” Anton points out, wanting to give Viktor the opportunity to think of something else. “Plenty of reasons to flash a bit of skin, especially in summer.” Still. Another thing. “What is... the maximum you are comfortable with?”

“Maximum of what?”

He waves. “Closeness. Intimacy. Is it holding hands? A kiss on the cheek now and then? An arm around the waist?”

“Anton,” Viktor says in a strange tone. “We are supposed to be boyfriends.”

“So? People have different attitude towards intimacy, and I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable than the whole situation will be.” It sucks (pun unintended) as it is. Pretending to be close with a stranger? Worse, an enemy (their lifebond aside). Anton has already noticed how reserved Viktor is (in truth, not in masks).

“Anton. This is a mission, and I will do whatever the mission requires.”

By the gods. “No,” he says firmly. “I am not doing it unless you set up boundaries.”

Viktor watches him for long moments, then something lost appears in his eyes. “I... have never thought about it.”

By the _gods_. “All right. We will figure it out as we go.” And the bond, Anton hopes, might be useful for measuring Viktor’s levels of comfort.

***

Getting a call from an unknown number is never a good thing—but hearing Viktor’s voice saying, in the gentlest of tone, “How are your ribs, Tosha?” nearly has Anton dropping the phone.

It takes him a moment to remember their grand scheme and what they agreed upon. Then he motions to Alex, who has concern written all over his face, that it’s fine, and goes to his office for some privacy. “Ribs are fine, sweet thing,” he murmurs, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, and sinking into the chair then closing his eyes. “Sorry. I couldn’t... Couldn’t stop it.” He had to get into that fight, and his body healed fast, but Viktor must be still feeling it.

“How are the kids?”

He smiles. “Oh, you know. Always getting in trouble and missing deadlines. I’m still waiting for a few to finish their homework.”

“I hope they do it fast. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweet thing.” It slides so naturally. He likes Viktor’s low voice. “Don’t stay up late.”

“Since you are not here to keep me up late...”

He laughs in surprise. “Then take the opportunity to get enough sleep. Because when I do come—”

“Oh, I’m counting on it, Tosha.”

When the call is over, Anton puts the number on the list of contacts, then puts his phone down on the table and stares at it. Viktor is such a good actor Anton would have believed he’s suddenly acquired a date.

_‘Tosha.’_

It’s going to be long, long days.

***

The days turn out to be, indeed, very long.

First of all, Anton has to get away from his people when making a call to his “boyfriend”. Which... is a little embarrassing, but also he notices a strange fluttery feeling in his chest whenever he does sneak away. His little secret, something that’s only his own.

Then, turns out the distance doesn’t affect their lifebond at all: one night he might be feeling Viktor’s (Vitya’s) insomnia only vaguely, the next day, sluggish as he is in daylight hours, he is suddenly struggling with the rush of adrenaline that is not his own. (“Are you okay, sweet thing?” — “Fine.” Vik doesn’t sound fine, and doesn’t _feel_ fine, and Anton makes a mental note to ask him about it.)

Before Viktor left, he urged Anton to feed before joining him. Anton doubts Viktor was worried he might decide to snack upon the hunter in the middle of their “vacation”. (Ohgods, they are going to live together, and Viktor’s scent—) But opportunity doesn’t present itself, and although Anton does drain two full packs of blood, it’s as unsatisfying as it always is. He’ll manage. Viktor’s proximity won’t affect him.

When Anton finally gets to the town, it’s a bright sunny day. Of _course_ it is, and he is blinded by it and he doesn’t see Viktor in the throng at the bus station, where the fuck—

His heart is beating so, so fast. No, no, not his heart—Viktor’s heart. What is hap—

Cold hands land on his waist (his thin shirt doing nothing to stop the cold, and he all but moans at the pleasant sensation of it on his heated skin), and then a kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck.

“Hi, Tosha.”

Viktor’s heart is still racing. He must have noticed some danger.

Anton turns to face him, and—damn, nobody would recognize the stern hunter in him. Not with the eyeliner, drawing attention to his already captivating eyes, making his dark eyelashes appear sooty. Not with the small crystal in his left ear (Anton is wearing its match). Not with the light-blue polo shirt that, gods, leaves his long arms on display with the striking lines of the tattoos right the fuck here.

But, as handsome as he is, this is not _Viktor_. When he bends to kiss Anton, he’s tense, and he’s tense as Anton puts a hand on his side.

Anton decides to keep the physical contact to a minimum, to give Viktor as much space as possible.

(He misses his hunter. He’d rather have him relaxed in his gray jacket, than tense here in a polo shirt.)

It is... so easy and natural, to work with Viktor. They understand each other, feel each other, even the lifebond aside, so well as though they’ve known each other for years. Which... is true, in a way. Viktor—Vitya—throws some remark, and Anton builds their legend further upon it, and then Vik catches it, it’s mindblowing. How easy it is.

_(You are enemies thrown together by circumstances. Nothing more.)_

Anton is amazed by how completely, expertly Vik wears the mask. (He wonders whether Vik had to pretend to be in love before. For the mission.)

Another problem Anton somehow hasn’t anticipated is, there is only one bed. Well, of course, the lovebirds would get a room at the hotel with one big bed. Gods, what if the killer is one of the staff? They’d have to pretend all the time. Of course, he could have said his boyfriend just doesn’t like sleeping together—but Viktor has already booked this room with one fucking bed.

And he can’t... If the killer is a leech or someone like a leech, Anton can’t use the Voice to communicate with Viktor (but he would be able to... He tasted Viktor’s blood, his sweet, wonderful—).

He chews on his lips, then takes out his phone, types up a message, and shows the screen to Viktor.

_‘I can sneak away at night if you want. Don’t have to sleep together.’_

Viktor looks up at him, a small frown, a Viktor frown on his face. “I’ll manage,” he says quietly.

Anton doesn’t want him to “manage”. He’s invaded Viktor’s privacy bad as it is, with the unintended bond.

Long days, indeed.

***

They made it so that Anton has arrived in the afternoon, to put less of sunlight-related strain on him. So they have a dinner, a walk, and then Viktor retires to bed.

He wakes up just as the sun rises. To soft breaths tickling the back of his neck.

Anton’s arms are not on him, but Anton is pressed to him from behind—a warm solidity, shifting slightly with each breath. Some leeches drop the habit of breathing, but others don’t, and Viktor is... relieved that Anton hasn’t. (Waking up lying as with a dead body isn’t something Viktor wants to experience. Ever again. One time was enough.)

That Anton tries to keep a distance even while asleep (and Viktor knows that the early morning hours are the most slumberful for leeches) makes something tighten in his chest in gratitude.

Working with Anton has turned out to be quite an experience. So easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, Anton understanding him at half-word. But this... Not sympathy, but accommodation, this attentiveness... Viktor doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s just a mission, and whatever a mission requires, he would do.

(Nobody has ever asked whether he likes men.)

Anton leaning to him (such a good actor himself), as though a boyfriend would—but with concern in his eyes, ready to move away at any moment. Keeping touch to a minimum.

_(Of course he would. You don’t deserve affection, and you don’t even deserve his attentiveness. It’s not real attentiveness, he’s just repulsed—)_

“What is…?” Anton’s voice is laden with sleep. “...Oh. I’m sorry.” And the mattress shifts as Anton moves away.

Of course.

_“Je m’excuse de vous avoir mis mal à l’aise.”_

Viktor quirks a brow, then rolls over to face Anton. Or, Anton’s back. “You can barely string three words in English at this hour, but can produce full sentences in French?” _You are just trying to distract yourself from the meaning of Anton’s words. Because you don’t deserve his apology._

_“C’est ma langue maternelle.”_

“You are bilingual?”

Anton shifts onto his back. “Tri... trilingual.”

Such long eyelashes, and pointy ears, and his nose, and—

_Stop staring._

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Don’t make me do the math this late, sweet thing.” And then Anton yawns.

That’s quite a sight that distracts Viktor from “sweet thing”. It’s a long, bone-twisting yawn that starts with a small O, then a stuck-out tongue, and then a maw full of teeth and fangs.

Like a cat.

He chuckles.

One golden eye cracks open. “What?”

“You are something. Do you have to sharpen your claws?”

“Yeah. Why?” Anton rolls onto his side again, his back to Viktor.

Viktor imagines Anton scratching a tree, and it makes him chuckle again. But then, his imagination adds details: Anton arching his back, claws extended...

He thinks that Ant— the leech might have fallen asleep—but then Anton murmurs, “You steal blankets, you know.”

Viktor huffs. “I do no such thing.”

“Yes, you do.”

Viktor finds the blankets kicked to the foot of the bed, pulls them up and throws them on Anton. (Trying not to touch his arms, bared by the T-shirt, trying not to stare at all the tattoos...) “Go back to sleep, Tosha.”

***

Throughout their “vacation” Viktor learns to use calming techniques on himself—to force Anton’s body to calm down. And it happens the other way around, too: he barely responds to an offense—and then his body kicks into fighting overdrive because Anton is so angry on his behalf.

The first time, it’s someone being apparently disgusted by them holding hands, and Viktor is calm about it—but Anton flares up immediately.

Viktor puts a hand on Anton’s waist, murmurs, “Tosha, it’s all right,” starts breathing deeper, slower.

Anton pushes his hand away and storms away—but what difference does it make? Their lifebond seems to be independent of the actual physical distance between them: it can be blindingly strong when they are cities apart—or it can be muted when they are standing shoulder to shoulder.

Anton... It seems he’s lived with such anger his whole life, and he doesn’t notice anymore just how taxing it is. How physically demanding it is. It leaves Viktor reeling, out of breath, trembling.

(It makes Viktor’s respect grow. Living with it, every day (every night, in Anton’s case), with such a short fuse—and yet keeping it under control, not allowing it to ruin everything is an amazing feat.)

***

They do find the serial killer by the end of the fourth day—he takes the bait, targeting Vik. He’s not a vampire, but someone who _thinks_ he’s a vampire (his lover, who was a real vampire, didn’t Turn him when he asked, and instead dumped him).

Viktor goes to the man—but at the last moment Anton appears. And the killer is spooked—but he shoots Anton.

Viktor is angry at Anton abandoning their plan (he had to make the arrest on his own, Anton shouldn’t have followed him), and Anton motions to him to leave and go after the killer...

But, due to prolonged sun exposure, no feeding, stress, and who knows what else, Anton can’t shrug the injury off. The bullet is lodged in him, and that wasn’t a problem before, he’s been shot before, but he _doesn’t stop bleeding._

Viktor holsters his gun and helps Anton lower himself on the chaise lounge. He can feel Anton’s anger and his fear, visceral, blinding.

“Tosha. You need to calm down.” His own heart is beating frantically, too. A few fingers to the left... But it’s still there, he can feel it, somehow cold, a small misshapen ball lodged in Anton’s shoulder; he can feel every grind of fractured collar bones, trying to knit themselves together, but too slowly.

“Go... the fuck... after him,” Anton grits out, pressing a hand to his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Viktor says coldly. He feels distracted, by sympathetic pain, by panic. “Why are you not healing?”

“Not... fed.”

He looks at Anton in rag— No, no, it’s not his rage, and he can’t, he won’t fuel Anton’s. “I asked that you feed beforehand.”

Anton grins, sharp fangs gleaming. “No volunteers.”

“Will it help if you feed off me?”

Anton’s eyes are closed and his breathing is fast and shallow, and Viktor is getting drowsy. _Anton_ is getting drowsy.

He plants a knee on the chaise lounge and cups Anton’s cheek. “Tosha. Focus. Hospital—” _and too many questions_ “—or my blood?”

Anton turns his face—and bites.

Viktor’s wrist is on fire, but it’s good, burning away the panic, questions, worries—everything. What’s left is just pain. And Tosha.

Who pulls back too quickly (his cat tongue swiping over the bite), and Viktor can feel it’s not enough—but it’s better already. His heart is racing—for a reason he’d rather explore later.

He pushes everything aside.

 _“Je ne veux pas te mettre mal à l’aise,”_ Anton murmurs. His breathing is getting deeper.

Viktor rolls his eyes, strokes Anton’s cheek. He can feel his—Anton’s—body struggling to force the bullet out.

“Hospital now,” Anton rasps. “But... don’t leave me.”

Viktor licks his lips. His head is swimming, he feels as though he’s in two places at once. “I won’t.”

At the hospital, their lifebond suddenly fades. Viktor should be grateful, because it has stopped distracting him... But now he can’t feel Anton and worries about his state.

_He can’t die, he won’t die, it’s just a minor thing._

_But what if it isn’t?.._

“I understand.”

He startles from a soft touch to his arm, and looks at the nurse.

“Excuse me?”

They sigh. “I understand. But don’t worry, he’ll make it, in weeks.”

 _In days_ , he thinks. Hopes. He rubs the back of his neck, then forces out a sardonic smile. “He’s going to complain so much. He’s left-handed.”

They laugh. “So now you’d have to help your boyfriend with everything.”

He smiles. “Yes. It appears so. He’s a fighter. It’s just...”

“Sudden?”

He nods.

He handles the police, the doctors, the whole thing—while aching to be by Anton’s side. It’s just... He needs the leech in control of himself. That’s all. Anton is hungry and only got a little taste of blood, he might go into frenzy...

Then, he feels a sudden surge of panic. It is muted, but it’s there, and it must be very strong if he feels it even though the bond is otherwise quiet. He excuses himself with the police officers, and rushes to Anton. And there are people trying to keep Anton down while he, alternating between languages, keeps repeating “I can’t feel him, I can’t feel him, I can’t feel him”.

Viktor pushes himself through and takes Anton’s uninjured right hand. “I’m here, Tosha, I’m here.”

Anton looks up at him, going quiet. Eyes glassy. The painkillers and exhaustion and hunger coupled with rapid healing must be messing with him.

He excuses Anton’s reaction by saying that his “boyfriend” isn’t used to painkillers, and they just had a _murderer_ attack them a few hours ago, and his boyfriend is in pain, so would you _please_ leave them alone? Thank you.

Anton is gripping his hand—but relaxing it once in a while, as though remembering he should let Viktor slip away if Viktor wants. It makes him hold even tighter. He strokes Anton’s face, and Anton sighs and leans to him. Viktor pulls a chair close and sits down.

“I hate hospitals,” Anton murmurs, so quietly that Viktor wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been close.

“They’ll discharge you soon, I hope,” he assures Anton.

_‘I can’t feel him.’_

Anton stirs. “Discharge? Dishonorably?”

He frowns. “No. It’s not life-threatening, so they will let us go soon... Tosha?” He wonders where Anton’s mind is.

Anton draws in a shaky breath. “I _hate_ hospitals, Vitya.”

He presses his lips to Anton’s head—to monitor his temperature, yes, and Anton is hot to the touch. But for some reason, it brings Viktor sudden peace. Or maybe it’s Anton’s painkillers. The world becomes less sharp, and Viktor has never come down from the overfocus of a mission this fast.

Certainly Anton’s painkillers.

What if Anton hadn’t made it?..

The world is too sharp again.

What if Anton had bleed out, what if he hadn’t allowed him to bite, what if he—

“Витя, родной мой, я в порядке.”

He shuts his eyes, swallows thick.

“Vitya? Yeah, I’m a bit high—or low?—but I’ll be fine. Hey. Hey, sweet thing.” Anton’s hand slips out of his, and then strokes his cheekbone with a knuckle. “Sweet thing. I’m okay.”

“I want,” he forces himself to say, “want you to eat when we return to the hotel.” He can’t force himself to open his eyes.

“I doubt they have much in storage here, and I’m not taking it from those who need it, Vitya.”

“Not storage,” he rasps. “From me.”

Anton is quiet—then his warm weight moves out of Viktor’s arms, and he opens his eyes in panic.

And Anton isn’t looking at him.

“No. No, Vitya.”

“You need—”

“I said _no_.”

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

“No.”

“You need it.”

“No.”

“Anton!”

“No.”

He clenches his teeth. “What’s the problem? I know you can control yourself.”

“That’s not why my answer is no.”

“Then why?”

“I have my reasons. Leave me be.”

It makes no sense. Viktor has just offered it himself, and Anton has admitted he can control himself and he needs it.

...Maybe he should force Anton.

Cut himself (won’t be the first time), Anton is a leech, he won’t be able to hold back—

No. No, to think of Anton like this... He’s not an animal, not a tool. Viktor can force himself to do many things, but Anton doesn’t have to go through it. It’s not critical right now to exploit his weaknesses. _(But you might need to exploit them in the future.)_

What if the killer hunts them? Or any local leech decides to—

_You need Anton at full strength._

“I’d prefer it,” Viktor says, keeping his tone even, “if you take it from me now, than find some victim later.”

“I hate you.” Anton turns away.

He hates _himself_. He hates himself so much for it—why does he hate himself? It’s just a mission. It’s rational. Anton is an asset.

Anton doesn’t say anything until a nurse checks him again, and he is told he’s free to go. Viktor follows him (a voice in his head telling him he should press advantage—while another voice is calling him names). Anton signs the papers, and even though his arm is still in a sling, Viktor can see that his grip on the pen is sure.

They are quiet all the way to the hotel.

_‘I can’t feel him.’_

Why did Anton panic about it? And why does Viktor feel like he understands that panic, right now?..

As soon as they are out of sight of anyone else in their hotel room, Anton takes off the sling, rolls his shoulder, though with a wince. It’s astonishing how he can heal from being shot in just a few hours, and while not being in full power. He takes off his ruined shirt (Viktor reminds himself to breathe), digs into his bag to find another (even though Viktor wishes he—), then stops, looks around as though searching for something.

“Have you seen my phone?”

Viktor shakes himself, then pulls it out of his pocket. “Yes. Here, Tosha.”

The phone is snatched from his hand. “It’s ‘Anton’. The mission’s over, isn’t it.”

Of course. The mission. It was just a mission, and a way to finish the task Anton’s “expert” wanted of them, though Viktor doesn’t understand why it was necessary to be close. Just a mission, and a cover, and Anton was so good at playing the concerned, attentive, gentle, though flawed, boyfriend that Viktor started thinking—

He’s manipulated people for so long, and he knows to never trust anyone—and for a few days, he has fallen for this game, this—

Anton’s shoulders slump, and that brings Viktor’s attention. He tries to remember all of it, to watch his fill of Anton: the powerful shoulders and arms, thick thighs, the tattoos—an exquisite tale written on his skin, woven out of scars and ink. His steps, his neck, his pointy ears and cat habits and his changing eyes and his—

“You want to know why I refused.”

And his voice. That husk and changing tones, even his voice is so expressive.

“Yes,” Viktor breathes out.

Anton turns to him, and he feels pinned. His heart heavy.

“Because I want you,” Anton says, looking right at him. Unreadable. “I’ve had a taste of you, and if I have more, I won’t be able to pretend that I don’t want you, again. It will be hard enough pretending to only see an enemy in you. So, there. My reason.”

Anton does put on a fresh shirt—the white one with blue dragons—but before Viktor can even process any of his words, he adds, “And before you think it’s something _leechy_ , I didn’t mean that I only want your blood. I want _you_. I’m sorry. I’ll try to not let it affect anything when we return home.”

“I...”

_You don’t deserve anything good._

_He hates you._

_He’s just an asset._

But when Anton bit him, he felt it. There was something else, something different than just the physical—in him, but in Anton, too.

“An— Tosha. I want, too. Want it. You.” The words fall into the silence between them, and his whole body seizes when he realizes what he’s said, what he’s given away.

Anton narrows his eyes. He looks every bit the dangerous man he is. “If this is a trick...”

“No tricks. You know me, you can read me.” He goes to Anton (legs so, so heavy), takes his hand and presses it to his chest. “You can _feel_ me. You felt it, too, didn’t you?” he says, not trying to control his face or his voice—even though it renders it barely more than a monotone, but Anton... Anton sees right through. Hears the minor shakes in his voice. “When you bit me. But, it doesn’t matter. I want, and I’d like to...” He takes a deep breath. Anton’s hand is so warm and big. “What matters is what we choose, doesn’t it.”

Anton steps even closer, and his hand curls, and claws press to Viktor’s chest. “If this is a trick,” he hisses, eyes blazing, “I will tear into your chest and eat your heart.”

And he will. Viktor knows he will. Literally.

“Not a trick. But I don’t know what it is. When we return to Ophir, I won’t be... I will be...” He looks away, trying to find words, any words. “Please drink from me? I want you to heal.”

Anton takes his hand. “On the bed. _Now_.” The husk is so, so rough and hot.

Viktor stumbles backward, sits down on the bed, his hand still in Anton’s grip. His heart beating so fast, and Anton surely feels it.

His skin is too tight and his mouth is dry.

“Lie back.”

He can’t _not_ obey, with Anton’s voice and his gaze holding him.

Then Anton climbs on the bed—a cat ready to tear into his prey. Viktor has to slot his fingers between Anton’s to hold on.

Anton nuzzles under his chin, and he tilts his head away.

“The moment you tell me to stop, I will stop,” Anton murmurs. “I will always stop, no matter what.”

He grips Anton’s shoulder with his free hand, trying to pull him closer, and breathes out, “Don’t stop.”

Anton bites—and Viktor arches up, but Anton presses him down, pins him down, and Viktor feels his weight—but nothing else—and then Anton rushes in (or him, into Anton?).

He feels _everything_. Anton’s anger, incessant, and his anger _right now_ , and his hunger focused on Viktor himself (he moans), and ice-cold needles of hurt, the warmth of worry, and something else, more, gentle and glimmering.

_Enough, sweet one?_

_No. More._

There is no time. No pain either, it is lost in more important things—though it tethers... him? Them?

There is nothing but _them_.

He regains awareness... He? Them? No, him. Which one?.. To purring rumbling in his chest... Not his. The other one. Which one?

“Shh, slowly.”

The purring right under his ear, calming him (which one?), loud and soothing, on exhales. He is calm. Content. _(Which one?)_

“Shh.” A hand strokes his head, the nape of his neck (he shivers, leans into it), his shoulders, naked... He wore clothes, before. Did he?

 _“Mes dieux,”_ he murmurs, turning his head and brushing a kiss over the warm skin under his lips, it smells so good, like musk and yet something sweet, and he licks it, and if he moves up a little, he can sink his fangs and feed right from the hea—

He props himself up on an elbow, looks at Anton.

And Anton... is a sight. Pupils blown wide, eyes glimmering _(glimmer, there was a glimmer—what was it?)_ , the shirt open and tattoos and scars on display, and he’s so beautiful, irresistible, and there is an ache low in Viktor’s _(yes, Viktor; that’s which one)_ abdomen...

“I had...” he starts and trails off.

Anton—Tosha—smiles, lazy and magnificent, a tongue flicks out to lick his lips. A cat. “Yes. You had an orgasm. That was beautiful.”

He drops his head to Tosha’s chest again, then falls himself. “Fu— Shadow.”

“Mhm.”

He dozes off, Tosha’s stroking of his neck and shoulders and back, so soothing. He can’t think properly yet.

Then the purring turns into a chuckle. “The staff here are going to think we had a nice, out-of-danger sex.”

“Why would they think that?” He slides his arms to wrap them around Tosha. Because Tosha is warm and right here.

“Because you are very vocal, sweet thing.”

He tenses up, willing his mind and his body to synchronize.

The warm hand stroking him presses deeper into his shoulder. “And I like it.”

***

They decide to stay at that town for a few days longer (even though Anton has to wear the sling in public; but Vik likes helping him doing everyday things). To sort things between themselves.

(Vik calls Henry and explains that he needs to stay.

“I will make sure the information gets to the Vory, too.”

“...Thank you, Henry.”

“Rest, sir.”)

The first day, they don’t talk much about all this. They get out eventually (to smirks from the hotel staff, and Vik feels so warm), have a very late breakfast turning into lunch (Vik has fun feeding Anton the dessert), then have a walk. It’s good, to just be, to not need to worry about anything, even if it won’t last.

Then they get back to the hotel, and Anton feeds off him again (it is as mindmelting as the first time).

Vik wakes up to a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him, and to Anton purring again while stretching obscenely.

Anton stretches to check how his healing is going. (Sometimes, if there’s a major injury, his body panics and starts healing _everything_.)

“Your purring is very soothing, although I admit I don’t understand how it’s possible.”

Purring? He turns to Vik.

Vitya is leaning on the pillows _(Shouldn’t have drunk so much from him)_ , sipping the chocolate. Shirtless, the tattoos still largely a mystery for Anton, so beautiful. All his body so beautiful, and Anton hasn’t had an opportunity to explore it properly. (He doesn’t know what they are. Even though Vik talked of choices.) And there are blankets pooled around Vik’s waist, and Anton knows he’s naked under.

He snaps his attention to Vik’s words. “I am... purring?”

Vik looks amused. “Yes. You don’t notice? Listen.”

He listens.

And, yes, he’s purring. It’s... strange, how could he not notice before? It’s vibrating in his chest on exhales. Anton rubs his chest.

They cuddle when the night comes and Viktor gets sleepy. Anton himself is not fully healed, the sunlight so stressful, so he’s happy to just sleep together. He thinks that maybe he should keep his distance—but it’s Vik who moves close, into his arms, resting his head on Anton’s chest.

And Anton hasn’t shared a bed—as in, properly shared—in a long time—but he falls asleep just as quickly, lulled by the calm coming from Vik through the bond.

He feeds a little the next day, and the next, for the pleasure of Vik’s taste—but for that mutual, overwhelming, beautiful connection, too (even though it should terrify them). And there is no denying their attraction to each other now. He feels Vik’s lingering gaze, and he leans to touch Vik himself. He thinks he should propose just sex, without feeding. At least, it won’t be extreme, maybe Vik is tired of the pain, of being pinned down...

Vik looks... disappointed when he asks whether Vik wants to have sex “without all this biting and clawing”. Though Vik’s face shuts down fast.

And Anton thinks, of course Vik just tolerated it so far—

No. Wait. “Wait, Vitya. I’ll use my words, and you please use yours? So what I’m thinking is, you tolerate the pain, my subduing of you, commanding you only when I bite you, but you wouldn’t like it without biting. Am I right? Because, you see, my being... commanding, inflicting pain, being the one in control—I like it, want it not only when I bite. But if you want something different, without that, I... Just say so.”

Vik is watching him, then says quietly, “No. You are wrong. I like it... I... Our tastes match. Not only in this.”

He understands. They aren’t talking only about sex now, even if they can’t quite put it into words. But the bond is strong, and the feelings flow through it.

He takes Vik’s hand, always so cold, and so elegant. “Yes. They do.”


End file.
